Maximus Must Die
by BusyQuill
Summary: A short dark fic focusing mainly on Commodus and how he feels and thinks before his death.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I own nothing.

Maximus Must Die

Chapter One

_I feel like I'm the only one standing in a crowd full of people. _

The thoughts burnt a hole in his heart and he felt like the pain that welled up inside him was about to burst out after devouring every fibre of his being like a ravenous cancer. He sank into the floor, with nothing in his unhinged mind but the fear he felt whenever he looked at his sister or even his father. He had not murdered him - how could he? It was an act of passion, he was a passionate person and whenever he felt strongly about something he acted from it, hence the smothering of his beloved father.

It was true - he _loved _his father deeply and wanted nothing more than to be loved, he would have even settled for a firm, warm kiss on the cheek. He took the reef off his head and threw it to one side - why should he wear it? In truth he was not emperor, for an emperor is respected and adored whereas he was hated and laughed at. It ate away at his soul - hated and laughed at, he was no more than a crippled beggar scrambling the streets in search of a crumb of bread.

So yes, he was passionate and yet he was compassionate, he would do anything to make his people happy - that was what the senate did not understand. Oh how he loved them all, from every screaming, purple-faced infant to the bent-over, ragged old toothless man - every last one had a place in their heart. He made a place for them all in his heart, but it seemed that no living organism could clear a space in their tar black and empty hearts for he; a lone man.

Isolation was his and loneliness consumed every last inch of him like the shadow of the night consumed the bright sun's domain, shadow had commandeered his body and turned every last part of him dark, right down to his once vibrant eyes.

But he was not a bad person, he tried his best to outline this. In his own eyes he had done nothing wrong. He took great care of his family - his sister was the light in his obscurity and gloom and he would fulfil her every request and need. He took great care of his nephew when his father died, reading to him, helping him write, telling him stories - basically doing every paternal duty he could think of, which was surprising as they were never shown to him, they just came naturally. He knew he would be a good father, one day. His father - he had loved his father so much it hurt and it ached to look at him, especially when his father ignored his every breath and movement. He felt invisible in his father's presence, but that never shattered the illusion that one day his father would turn to him and embrace him tightly - that was his dream and he would be damned if it would fail, for even in death he could receive that which is rightfully his. He felt as though the citizens were his family - his children. These people he prized above all others and Maximus, his brother. If Maximus had only taken his hand they would have been the best of friends, but he turned his back on him and the new emperor did what he had to in order to show the people there would be no exceptions in treachery. He expected Maximus to die along with his family and would therefore be reunited with them in the afterlife, but Maximus had to survive and thus, he felt the deep pain of loosing his family, his life in theory. Maximus afflicted everything upon himself, yet somehow Commodus was the villain in all of this and he was sure it had driven his sister to hating him.

At the end of the day all he wanted was love; love from his people, love from his sister, love from a woman, love from his father and love from Maximus, but it was not to be so, for now he had to perform the acts of Caesar - Maximus had to be destroyed.

He did not want to deal with the guilt of killing him again, but he was so amazingly vexed that he would kill him with his own hand over and over again until the sun burst into tiny shards killing off the whole wretched race! That is what he would have to do if this plan failed - he would have to stain his own hands with the blood of the one his father always preferred over his own flesh. However, it would not come to that, he would have Maximus' head on a plate and it would happen tomorrow, as he faces the greatest athlete of them all - Tigris of Gall.

How strange it was that this common Spaniard went from being a farmer to a general, then a slave and not at last a gladiator, a gladiator that defied an emperor. He would watch as the life was drained out of his 'friend' and hopefully the death would be quick. Whilst the people in the crowds yelled out for their hero they seemed to forget that Maximus had brutally killed all of the gladiators he was against. He should have killed him this afternoon, it would have been so easy! But he did what the crowd requested.

_But what if Maximus does not die tomorrow?_

There it was, the doubtful little shrill voice in the back of his head telling him what a failure he and his plans were and shaking his confidence. But Maximus would die tomorrow: it has been arranged. There is no fear that Maximus will survive. How could he? Tigris was undefeated and the crowd idolised him above this newcomer.

When the helmet was removed, revealing Maximus, he nearly died. His head pushed different messages into the frame and he could swear he was on the verge of fainting. Although she denied it, he knew Lucilla felt love arise again for him, but he convinced himself he needn't worry, soon he would put an end to that infatuation, with the death of her hero.

_Maximus will die tomorrow and I shall watch and the people will be pleased. _

_Maximus will die tomorrow._

_But what if he doesn't?_


	2. Chapter 2

Maximus Must Die

Chapter Two

It was morning. He knew it was morning but he curled up in order to mask his knowledge, for he did not want to see the sun today. The doubt he had experienced the night before had gnawed a hole into his dreams and impregnated them with visions of Maximus' role as hero being fulfilled once he slaughtered Tigris, the greatest gladiator of all time.

He was experiencing internal and eternal conflict, between his arrogance and uncertainty. Would Maximus die? He could only pray to Jupiter it would be so, for he had not the gift of foresight. Natural light always has this effect on him, it exposed his heart's vulnerability to his mind, which would laugh at the womanish whines oozing out of it. If only he had a strong male role model to look up to. If only someone would congratulate him on his successes, rather than pointing out his failure. It was too much to ask, that he might be supported.

He dressed, and as he slipped each garment on he thought constantly of the same thing - _What if Maximus does not die? _This distrust in his mind was tedious and it vexed him immensely, it felt as if his thoughts were contradicting his beliefs, like he had lost control over what he knew and trusted.

He surveyed himself in the mirror, gazed long and hard at the small child in front of him. At heart that's all he was, a child, barely out of his mother's arms. He remembered his mother - they way she smelt, of meadow flowers. The way she felt, soft, like a feather and lastly, the way her voice sounded, low and smooth - the voice of a goddess. That's what she was to him: a goddess, but she was gone. She had abandoned him like everyone else, leaving him naked in the dark without any protection, free to accept the blows and bites of the cruel citizens and senators. He was alone, he knew and accepted that.

He was six when his father deserted him in order to take care of the far corners of the empire, merely six. He would often bring this up in conversation in order to inspire some sort of sympathy, but he never received none, it was simply shook off so other more 'important' matters could be discussed. He was bitter, but not vengeful, nor would he hold a grudge against his beloved father, brother or sister. Maximus would hold a grudge, Maximus was holding a grudge - against him. Surely this proved how compassionate he was? Of course not, people are blinded to the goodness lying within people in power.

Sometimes he felt like ending it all. He once talked of having courage _perhaps not on the battlefield, but there are many forms of courage_. He was afraid to fight in case he disappointed his father, he wasn't afraid of dying, he was afraid of failing. This is what he meant - he was not afraid of death. He contemplated killing himself many times, once he held the blade of his father's sword so close to his flesh it punctured the skin, but he decided against it - he wanted to see how his life would turn out. He wanted a family - a wife and children. He wanted his name to be remembered in the pages of history _Commodus the father of Rome_, it was achievable, it had to be otherwise what would be the point of his life?

He was a failure - he always had been and always would be, in his eyes and his father's. Every plan he ever had fell through, he couldn't even have a man executed successfully anymore. Everything went wrong and this made him weep, for he felt he did not deserve to live. How was it possible to get each moment of his life so incredibly erroneous. He had to do this right, if Maximus did not die today he would be the laughing stock of Rome and would therefore have himself destroyed by the slave.

He sat on a chair in the farthest corner of the room and shut out the world for a moment. His dark mood matched his black clothing as he picked up and quill and began to scrawl writing onto the scraps of parchment in front of him. Existence was a blur, a pointless struggle and an endless one at that.

He heard people laughing all around him outside. He might as well be invisible for that is how he felt and was treated. He was lonely, isolated and ignored. He wrote his name over and over hoping for some realisation, acceptance within himself. It barely seemed real, that Maximus was still alive, but it was and he had to deal with that immediately.

_He will die today, won't he?_

Maximus haunted him like the ghost he _should _be. He forever saw his father turning his back on him and gazing at the general. How many times did he suffer that indignity, he wondered? He would die, if not by the hand of Tigris, the tigers would kill him. Oh, it was all too perfect, the way the scene played in his mind - the sand would be stained red with the defiant slave's blood and the crowd would rejoice as their true hero has conquered this passing fancy.

He heard footsteps behind him, but he couldn't care less, he was too busy remembering his name to wonder who the person in his room was, he knew anyway - she was the only visitor he ever had in the mornings.

_Are you ready, brother?_

Ready? Of course he was ready, he had been waiting for this for so long. He stood and turned but almost sat again, as the beauty of his sister was amazingly unnerving. How he wished he could find a wife as precious, strong, intelligent and as gracious as she was. She was truly a perfect vessel - a portrait of his goddess mother.

_Yes. _A simple answer for a simple question - why waste time with extra words? There was something off-putting about his sister this morning, however, almost as if she was scared of something. Surely she could not be scared of him, he had been her protégé since his arrival - especially since their ten other siblings had unfortunately paid the boatman barely a moment after their first breath. They had shared so many things, moments and memories, she could not now be scared of him, could she?

No, of course not. She was scared because of what might happen to her beloved Maximus. Once this thought entered his brain he sneered slightly, hatred plucking at one of his heart strings. This man was a thief - how dare he steal the emperor's family?

It was time, he would watch Maximus die, then bathe in his blood - it was what the thief gladiator deserved, people had received worse for doing better.


	3. Chapter 3

Maximus Must Die

Chapter Three

The emperor's box. A place where his highness could sit and watch the battles in comfort, with a clear view and smell of the blood. If he were lucky and the fight were particularly entertaining, he might even be splattered with a bit.

Commodus entered the arena to the chanting of his name 'Caesar, Caesar, Caesar'. It sent shivers down his spine - was he accepted? Was he loved? It was quite nerve-wrecking, really. His confidence was shaken, so he merely waved meekly and took his seat next to his sister, who had arrived only moments before. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, although it wasn't a full smile - she knew something he didn't. But he was unfazed by it, he knew things she didn't, he knew the fate of her lover.

_What is that pompous oaf doing now?_ He asked himself under his breath. Lucilla glanced at him, smirking. Commodus never did like Cassius, he always found him patronising yet flattering, he did not like being lied to or spoken to like a child.

There he stood, addressing the roaring crowds in his red wig, taking their concentration away from Caesar and upon himself.

_People of Rome. On the 4th day of Antioch, we can celebrate the 64th day of the games. And in his majestic charity, the Emperor has deigned this day to favour the people of Rome with an historical final match. Returning to the Colosseum today after five years in retirement, Caesar, is pleased to bring you the only undefeated champion in Roman history, the legendary...Tigris of Gaul! _

The crowd stood again in their thousands and let out a bellowing noise, chanting 'Tigris' in their excitement to see him again.

_Majestic charity? This is not charity - this is my duty, I must please my children._ He turned to Lucilla, his face showing worry - he wasn't joking, which frightened her. He always took things out of proportion_. I'm quite worried, is Tigris still fit to fight?_ Lucilla ignored her brother, much to his dislike, so he turned to face Cassius again, realising Tigris had entered the arena. He wished the crowd would stop shouting, this was all he needed; a headache.

_Representing the training lyceum of Antonius Proximo, Caesar is proud to give you Aelius Maximus._

Maximus walked out into the arena to the crowd's loving embrace. Commodus' eyes began to slowly fill with tears - the crowd loved him. Despite the blurred vision he could still make out clearly the Spaniards weapons - a sword and a shield, exactly what he requested the bastard should have. He looked at Lucilla again and saw she was tense, clearly holding back emotions - she loved him too.

How could this man just return and take what was his? How could a gladiator, the lowest of the low, generate so much adoration and respect. Why not Commodus? He was their father, he was the sole reason Maximus was still alive, he could have had him executed on the spot - he would have been just a shadow, a memory, a passing phase the people had forgotten. He had made another mistake, he should have had Maximus shot by his archers there on the spot, the moment he removed his helmet. His every breath now was a defiance and his children would soon follow suit - how long before they ran him out of the palace? He was relieved that this was the end - now the hero would die. A hero's death.

_They embrace him like he's one of their own._ He was clapping, he didn't realise he was clapping.

_The mob is fickle brother. He'll be forgotten in a month. _

He laughed inside his head. Oh, how little his sister knew. He knew her secret, he knew she still felt for him and because of this he knew she would be pained to watch him die, but she had Lucius, dear sweet Lucius who would always be there to protect her. He would tease her though, he liked to tease her, she hated being left out of things.

_No, much sooner than that. It has been arranged. _There it was again, that look of fear in her normally emotionless face. He smiled slightly at her and turned to face the gladiators, waiting for her to question him as to what he meant, but no question came. 

_We who are about to die salute you._

How dare that ignorant oaf not salute him? He was blatantly insolent towards him. Commodus was enraged, and he knew Maximus knew this - the man was smiling, smiling at Commodus' misfortune. How dare he?

The fight began and the two brutes dealt blow by blow.

_He didn't salute me._ He gripped the arms of his chair and shuffled about, irritated.

_I wouldn't worry about it, clearly he is doomed to die._ Lucilla seemed annoyed, Commodus didn't care, he knew she would be. That was it, he was finished talking to her at this moment in time, he was all grown up for the hour.

_Insolent Spaniard thinks he can disrespect me? Me, Commodus emperor of Rome? I can hardly say I'm surprised, but not to worry. It will all be over soon._

The first tiger was released and clawed at the enemy. Commodus smiled inwardly to himself.

_You weren't expecting that, were you? _

The battle continued, with more tigers and hits. Sometimes Maximus had fallen and other times Tigris had. It kept the crowd on the edge of their seats, wanting more - he had delivered all of this for them. He had shown them light in their otherwise bleak lives, surely now they would appreciate him?

It was so hard for this boy to grow in his father's image. He was preened and trained to become emperor, right down to the gestures of his hands. He read over his father's meditations and absorbed all knowledge like a sponge. He learned from his, his father's and others mistakes and grew slowly. Unfortunately depression had gripped him at a young age. Without a mother and father, it was only natural to have your thoughts dominated by death and darkness. He cried often at night and whenever he slept he had amazingly horrific nightmares accompanied by visions of his dead mother watching him within his room. Now she was joined by his father, both taunted him. He had forgotten what it was like to be happy.

So imagine the disappointment he felt when his father named a foreigner his heir? Everything Commodus had worked for disappeared like a vapour, he did what he had to do - he killed his father for the greatness of Rome, it was the right thing to do.

He went over these thoughts again and again before he realised Maximus was winning, having slain one of the tigers he now stood over his opponent awaiting the emperors decision.

_What do the crowd want?_

He looked at each face and all were saying 'kill'. He was apprehensive, surely if he put his thumb down Maximus would disobey him again? He would have to take the chance - the happiness of his people came first. He stood cautiously, clearly disappointed his plan has failed. He stretched his arm out and gave the thumbs down signal, all he could do now was watch.

Maximus threw the axe to the side, causing a look of hate to briefly flicker across Commodus' face. How dare he defy me yet again? He smiled to please the crowd, then left the box - he was going to have words with Maximus.

He approached the gladiator to boos from the crowd. How could they hate him when he had done nothing wrong? He was the merciful one, Maximus would be dead now if he had not spared his life.

_What am I going to do with you, you simply won't...die. Are we so different, you and I? You take life when you have to, as I do. _

_I only have one more life to take and then it is done._

Commodus was tired of the idle threats and failed plans. He was fed up, suicidal - he had failed **again**, it was now a habit he sorely wished he was rid of. How on earth could he keep getting everything so wrong? He wouldn't get it wrong again - this would end, here and now.

_Then take it now._ He was wishing it, he wanted to die and he wanted his death to be seen out by Maximus the merciful. But he was walking away - how could he please him? He would make him kill him, he just didn't see the point in continuing his painful existence any longer.

_They tell me your son squealed like a girl when they nailed him to the cross....and your wife, moaned like a whore when they ravaged her again, and again, and again. _Was this true? He didn't know. The only news he heard from that escapade was that it was successful. Did they ravage her? Was the boy nailed to a cross? He had no clue as to what happened, so he lied. He was provoking the gladiator, he wanted the coward to kill the emporer, his brother, in front of the emperor's children. He simply wanted to die - was that too much to ask?

_The time for honouring yourself will soon be at an end, Highness. _

Maximus left, left without so much as a killing glance. Commodus was surprised, he had suffered two failures in two moments, how on earth was he so good at failing?

It was like a nightmare - a big nightmare. One he was about to wake up from.


	4. Chapter 4

Maximus Must Die

Chapter Four

What could he do now? He had tried befriending him, killing him, surrendering to him, but nothing ever worked! What could he do now? Offer him the wooden sword of freedom? No, of course not, he would never take it. He had too much power as a slave.

What was he to do? He folded his arms and walked back and forth in a sulk, pouting. He had succeeded in failing yet again and he could almost hear Marcus Aurelius and Maximus Decimus Meridius rejoicing with merriment at his downfall. Falco walked in and sat, this is what he needed right now - counsel and as Lucilla was nowhere to be seen, he would have to make do with the only senator who considered him worthy of respect. He was also the only senator who would even try to understand him.

_And now they love Maximus for his mercy, so I can't just kill him or it makes me even more unmerciful. The whole thing is like a great...nightmare._ He started talking out loud halfway through his sentence, which confused Falco.

_He is defying you. His every victory is an act of defiance, the mob sees this, and so do the Senate. Every day he lives they grow bolder. Kill him!_

Wasn't he listening? He just said that he can't kill him for fear of being seen as Commodus the tyrant, he was their father, what he had to do was something loving. But he was at a loss as to what he could do, he did not have a lot of knowledge on paternal love, never having a father close at hand.

_No! I will not make a martyr of him. _

_I have been told of a certain sea snake which has a very unusual method of attracting its prey. It will lie at the bottom of the ocean as if wounded, then its enemies will approach and yet it will lie quite still and then its enemies will take little bites of it and yet it remains still._

_Why am I receiving an aquatics lesson? Perhaps Falco is growing senile with his old age. Why would a sea snake allow it's prey to devour it...? Of course, it is luring the prey to it, as the senators flock to me to push me off the throne I am lying still, so now I will attack. _The thoughts were pleasing, he had found something he wouldn't, couldn't fail to do.

_So, we will lie still and let our enemies come to us and nibble. .... Have every senator followed. _

Falco left. Commodus sat in the chair he had previously occupied and smiled sadly to himself. He did not want to have to put more blood on his hands in order to acquire adoration.

_What would father have done? He would have locked himself away in his study and read books until Rome was a republic again, but that's what he wanted. He did not want a man who cared about the citizens to rule the empire, he would rather have a bunch of selfish, dried up old men bossing people about. _

He would ask him. He looked about the room and saw a bust of the last emperor standing nearby, staring lifelessly into open air. Commodus walked in front of it and positioned himself so it looked like the statue was real, his real father looking at him. Towards the end of his days Marcus Aurelius could barely stand near Commodus, let alone look at him.

_Father - I have disappointed you._ He whispered the words and placed a hand on the cold cheek. He awaited a response, a loving hug or a smile - but he received none. This father was also made of stone and would not show the boy any love. Neglected and distraught, he began to weep and collapsed on the floor, curling himself up into a ball like he used to when he was young and lonely. It was his shield against the horrors in the world and he could not think of a better time to use it. _Why could you never love me_? He screamed at his father in the darkness amid heavy sobs of anguish.

_Is everything alright, sire?_

His handmaid, Antonia. She was a meek, quiet girl who floated about the palace like a ghost, often creeping up on the emperor when he least expected it, such as now. He was startled and quickly sat up, drying his eyes on his robe.

_Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'd be a lot better if people did not jump out of shadows._ He attempted to laugh, but found it harder than expected and let out a few more stray tears.

He felt silly, embarrassed. This girl had seen him cry - grown men don not cry. He had lost her respect, just as he had lost the rest of the population's.

_Of course, sire. I'm sorry, sire._

Lucilla, where was Lucilla? He needed to see her - immediately. She needed to know what was going on, she needed to tell him everything would be ok.

Antonia began to move.

_Wait. My sister - where is she?_

_I don't know, sire._

_Find her, get her to come to me. _

_At once, sire._

She rushed out of his presence, much too quickly - it was almost as if she were running away from him.

_What am I going to do? I can't simply let the senate nibble at me until there is nothing left and the republic has returned, I can't just sit by and watch that happen. Gods! I wish mother was here, she was always the stronger of my parents. What good would a republic be anyway? The fat bellied old men sitting in their finery gorging themselves with meat and fruit, not caring about the people they are supposed to speak for, how could father have wanted this? He was selfish, if he truly wanted the senate to rule, surely he would have resigned and let them step in whilst he was still alive, rather than making it his dying wish? No, he wanted glory - I can see that. Where is Lucilla? I'll wager she is with Maximus, plotting their escape. Why doesn't she love me? I am her family - I love her._

_She's with senator Gracchus, sire._ Antonia, again.

_Senator Gracchus? What on earth was she doing with him? _A wave of realisation gripped him - she was his lover, she had been out with him the whole time._ Thank you, you may retire to your own quarters._

It was then he realised he was still sitting on the floor.

How was he to work his way around this one? Jealousy bubbled within his stomach making the bile rise to the back of his throat. Lucilla was his sister, it was his right to receive her love. How was it that he was so amazingly dark whereas she was astoundingly light? They were like the sun and the moon, hence why she never seemed to be in the same room as him if she could help it nowadays.

The end was starting, he could feel it in his bones. He was born alone, had lived a lonely life and would now die alone - born to die. Since yesterday when he saw Maximus was alive he realised he was dying quicker than he expected, he grew weaker with each passing day and it was only a matter of time before he was struck down. But if he wanted to protect his people from the evil of the senate, he had to survive and he would do his best to.


	5. Chapter 5

Maximus Must Die

Chapter Five

He limited his world to these four walls to let his mind free but it remained caged, focused upon one question: _What kind of world are we making when the people of Rome prefer a slave in the arena to their father_?

It was his responsibility to make the world as it should be. But he did not understand how he had made this world, this isolated race. It was all too easy for his children to be referred to as 'the mob', but they were not 'the mob' in his mind, they were his children and all he wanted to do was love them.

His father loved Maximus, and he loved him still, yet he continued to defy him and task him in front of his children. _And they love him for it. Just as Marcus loved him for it._ That was the sad truth, Marcus Aurelius, his father, took great mirth when Maximus confronted Commodus and taunted him with his sly, subtle ways. It was always as if he weren't in the room with them, it was just Marcus and Maximus sharing a 'private joke'.

_And what do I do but fight for them?! I give them games to please them. I strangle dissent to give them peace. I empower the Praetorians to give them order. What more can I do?! He was amazingly frustrated. He threw himself onto his chair and gripped his knees, desperately searching for the answer, hoping it would just pop out under his nose as if he had not been looking for it after all. _

_Say I should fight him, in the arena. Let my children see who the Gods truly favour. _

_And what if he should win?_ It was back, that overpowering voice of doubt gnawing away at his common sense_. A God is more powerful than a man..._

No, he couldn't think of that. If Maximus beat him, his legacy would be lost and he would be but an echo of laughter throughout the halls of history.

_But I need to know - why do they love him?_

_He will not kill in the arena. He is merciful. As they all wish they were in their own hearts. And for that moment in the arena they are merciful too. For a moment... they are Gods. Offering life. But who can be more merciful than the Emperor of Rome? _

He continued to mull the thoughts over repetitively in his head until he heard the light footsteps of his phantom-like sister. He sat quietly and still, wondering whether she would trouble herself to speak to him. It seemed that Lucilla had taken a vow of silence since Maximus' arrival, leaving him alone most of the time, giving him plenty of space to 'think things through'. This was probably the reason he had slid so drastically into depression - the result of thinking too much, as thinking too much is dangerous and unhealthy.

She entered his room, much to his liking - it showed she actually cared, but she turned as quickly if not quicker to leave.

_Where have you been? I sent for you._ He wanted to make it known he was looking for her, he wanted her to know he needed her. Every moment they were apart he could feel himself being dismantled by the senate as they wore him down. Five hundred against one, the odds were against him but he was determined he'd win.

_Please brother._ She started walking over to him.

He knew she'd been with Gracchus, but she didn't know he knew. But he wasn't sure about her motives - was she conspiring against him?

_What troubles you?_

It wasn't a sincere question, she was desperate to be somewhere else, desperate to get back to her lover, Gracchus. But she couldn't get back to Gracchus, for he would be safely locked away very soon.

_Does Gracchus have a new lover?_ He'd catch her out. Even the slightest flicker in her eyes would reveal whether they were an item or not. There wasn't a flicker, not even a spark.

_I don't know._

_I thought you had seen him. He infects everyone like a putrid fever. For the health of Rome, the Senate must be bled and he will be bleed too, very soon._ She didn't know what he had done, Gracchus was behind bars and would soon be executed. It was joyous, he would be rid of the sermonising, preaching, the dull drone of the old man's voice defying him like the Spaniard.

_But not tonight._

He didn't pause to think on this statement, but he should have. She was just mesmerising, again reminding him of a goddess, of their mother - the perfect woman. The day Lucilla married Lucius, Commodus felt a tiny bit of him disappear. They were no longer brother and sister anymore. She was no longer innocent. It felt different, she wasn't the same, he never saw her. She gave birth, proving she had fornicated, had committed adultery. Commodus couldn't stand this thought - his pure older sister touched by hands unworthy of her divinity. But Lucius II, he was another example of perfection and Commodus loved him deeply, as much as any father could. And when his real father died, Commodus was free to reclaim his family, but this was again threatened by the feelings she had for Maximus and Gracchus. What could he do? He had no ideas anymore. He was about to say something to her, tell her about what he had done. He opened his mouth but found no sound and so moved to sit on the edge of his bed _Do you remember what our father once said? _

He sat_. It's a dream, a frightful dream...life is. Do you think that is true_? This phrase made him smile slightly, life was quite funny when he looked at it. It was amusing how much misfortune he could suffer.

She sat next to him and examined his face, hers lined with sympathy and concernedness. _I don't know._

Did she not? He wasn't so sure about what she was telling him. This was another part of life with Maximus he hated, he was beginning to lose trust in his sister where once he would have sworn by her word and entrusted his life to her.

_I think it is. And I have only you to share it with. _He desperately wanted something more comforting than a mistress. He wanted a wife, someone who would give him an heir and love him unconditionally. Lucilla moved closer to him and a sudden pathetic, boy-like dependency came upon him as he realised his solitude and rested his head against her shoulder. She was so warm, so soft. He leaned her back and lay her upon the bed. He was overwhelmed by her beauty. Her eyes were so serene, her nose petit, her mouth plump. He put his fingers against her lips.

_Open your mouth._ She responded and he moved his fingers from her lips to his own, tasting what she tasted. He wanted her to love him, to feel what he felt for her. When he was with Lucilla he felt no sexual attraction to her, he just had a strong need for her to protect him. He wanted to be like Lucilla, be someone his father loved yet he loved wholly as well. She was like a mother to him, someone he could turn to in times of woe. But all of this didn't matter, for his feelings for her would be deemed in the public eye as incestuous and would give the public another reason to dislike him. He was possessive of her and needed her company, for he was extremely quick to jealousy if anyone else spent even a moment of their time with her. Their relationship was confusing, even to him, so he just pressed his head to her shoulder. All he wanted was intimacy, but nobody was prepared to allow him to have it. He was desperately lonely and again I remind you he was desperate for love.

_You know I love you._ He knew she was afraid and it sickened him to think that she thought he would force her to bow to his will. How could she have such a low opinion of him? To think that he would make her sleep with him against her will. If all he wanted was sexual satisfaction he would turn to Amorina, Celeste or Mira, goodness knows they were there for him in the past.

_And I love you._

He smiled to himself, content with the thought that at least one person shared his feelings and loved him back. He pressed his head against her shoulder and fell asleep quickly, exhausted after days of insomnia - he had found the comfort he needed.


	6. Chapter 6

Maximus Must Die

Chapter Six

A dreamless sleep was all that was granted to him. One that he was robbed of by the sound of wood clashing together, awaking only to the noise amplified by reality and a headache. He groaned slightly as he sat up, rubbing his head and looking to see what the commotion was. He saw Lucius, playing with the African slaves. Each had a wooden sword, obviously playing legionnaire.

He smiled and walked over to them. _Isn't it late to be playing legionnaire? _He took a sword from one of the slaves.

_I'm not a legionnaire._

Began to parry with the boy. _Not a legionnaire? _

_I am a gladiator._

A gladiator? What in Jupiter's name was he pretending he was one of those lowlifes for? _A gladiator? Gladiators only fight in the games. Wouldn't you prefer to be a brave Roman warrior like Julius Caesar?_ He would prefer to be Julius Caesar - respected, admired, adored.

_I am Maximus, the saviour of Rome. _

Maximus? Maximus was considered the saviour of Rome? Impossible! The realisation swept over him quicker than shadow and he dropped his sword, kneeling to be at eye level with his nephew.

_The saviour of Rome. And who said that?_ He was mortified, distressed. How could a gladiator, the lowest of the low, be considered as the saviour of Rome when it was Commodus who brought him into their lives? When it was Commodus who was bringing about this glorious vision? Could it be the people preferred their mirages of butchering victories and scheming senators?

Lucius began to whisper in his ear. _Mother and Gracchus and Gaius. _Commodus clutched at the boy. He felt like crying, wailing, yelling, hitting and dying all at once in a rush of emotions. She had been scheming, she had been. How could he not have seen it? How was she so good at lying?

_I'll tell you what we'll do Lucius._ He smiled at his nephew, a plan forming in his head. He would get Lucius on his side, he would mould him into a suitable heir_. We'll go and read some scrolls, history scrolls? How does that sound?_

Lucius was surprisingly enthusiastic about the whole idea. Commodus led him to the library where he picked out a story appropriate for the mood, to rationalise everything going on around them. They then made their way to his desk and they sat side by side reading every word before them. Lucius was a very good reader, proving he had the intelligence for the role he would soon take. As they sat there reciting the recorded memories Commodus was reminded of how much he enjoyed the company of his nephew. He reminded him of himself, how he could have been had he had the love and support and encouragement that was bestowed upon Lucius.

_She got an asp, in a basket and killed herself with it._

_She couldn't have!_ Lucius was engrossed in the tale, amusing the emperor

_Yes, she did. She took it from a basket, pressed it to her breast, right here above the heart. .... Hissss_ He added drama with a replica snake.

_And it bit her in the breast?_

_Yes. You see, Lucius, sometimes royal ladies behave very strangely and do very odd things in the name of love._ Lucilla was being very strange, doing odd things for her love of Maximus. Imagine, going against the emperor of Rome thinking he wouldn't find out, thinking it would just slip his mind, thinking he wouldn't do anything about it. Well he would do something about it; she had broken his heart, what was left of it.

_I think it's silly._

_So do I._ He saw her approaching - the traitor._ So do I..._

He faked delight in seeing her. _Sister...join us. I've been reading to dear Lucius. _

_I've been reading too._

_Yes, he's a very clever little boy. He'll make a grand Emperor one day._ She was sitting now. Perfect, she was prepared of his onslaught. He would make her weep as he had wept. She would feel his pain and anguish._ We've been reading about the great Marc Anthony and his adventures in Egypt._

_And the Queen killed herself with a snake! __And just wait until you hear what happened to our other ancestors! If you're very good, tomorrow night I'll tell you the story of Emperor Claudius. He was betrayed, by those closest to him ... by his own blood ... they whispered in dark corners and went out late at night and conspired and conspired. _He looked at her face, she was worried. It served her right; she had stabbed him in the back and the heart. How could she do this to her little brother? The only man who stood by her through everything and supported her every choice?

_But the Emperor knew they were up to something. He knew they were busy little bees. And one night he sat down with one of them and he looked at her and he said, "Tell me what you have been doing, busy little bee, or I shall strike down those dearest to you. You shall watch as I bathe in their blood." And the emperor was heartbroken. The little bee had wounded him more deeply than anyone else could ever have done. And what do you think happened then, Lucius?_ He had to remember he was telling Lucius a story; he couldn't worry him, not if he was to stay with him. As long as he hit Lucilla close to the bone he would be satisfied.

_I don't know uncle._ He was too clever; he knew Commodus was aiming for her. It didn't help that she was crying.

_The little bee told him everything._

He sat and stared at her expectantly. _Well?_

_Commodus, please..._Lucilla began

_No more begging. I'm loosing patience with you. How could you be so heartless? So cruel? So cold?_

_Commodus..._

_Spare me your womaness._ He could feel himself about to cry. He called over a guard and had him escort Lucius out - if this would be an eruption of emotions he wouldn't have Lucius subjected to it. With the guard he also sent a message to be taken to Falco

_I didn't mean to hurt you._

_Of course not. How would assassinating me hurt me?_ He wasn't as cool and collected as he normally was. _What have you been doing?_

_It was Gracchus' idea..._

_I don't care!_ He snapped it, on the verge of shouting. He wanted information and all of this was just a way of stalling him. _Lucilla...I need to know what you have been scheming. Tell me and I'll spare Gracchus._

_He wants to set Maximus free, he's planning on releasing him through Proximo..._

_Proximo? He shouldn't be a problem, and..._

_A messenger will meet Maximus outside the walls, he will lead him to Germania where they will get his army back. From there they will march back to Rome - in order to usurp the throne and return it to the Senate._

He felt relieved. It had been a lot easier to get the information than he presupposed, although something was bothering him - she was still talking like it was going to happen. _Who else is involved?_

_Proximo, Gaius, Gracchus and..._

_You._ He struggled to say it, still struggling to come to terms with her betrayal. Luckily, Falco arrived just as they had finished talking and witness the few final words. Commodus passed on all of the information he had just received.

_I want Gaius killed. I want Proximo killed. I want the rest of those gladiators killed. I want the messenger killed and I want Maximus..._ He thought about it. It was too easy to have Maximus killed, he had another idea, his previous idea._ And I want Maximus captured._

_I'll see to it. _

He had broken Lucilla, there was no need for her to be tied or chained, she was like that already with the promise of her son's blood being spilled, especially as she no longer knew his whereabouts. Commodus would never intentionally hurt Lucius, but Lucilla didn't trust him. She didn't love him.

_Why?_


	7. Chapter 7

Maximus Must Die

Chapter Seven

It was a mess, a terrible mess. He stood looking out over the streets, aware of his sister's broken spirited body sitting behind him. He was awaiting confirmation of his orders, waiting silently whilst his head tormented him.

He was so unbelievably angry, more so than he had ever been. Even as a boy he struggled to raise his voice, but now he could feel the rage bubbling inside him, mounted up over a life of neglect, desperate to be released. He was trying his best to suppress it, but he didn't know how much longer he could last.

He felt as though he had been denied maternal, paternal and fraternal duties. It was his family's duty to love him, to support him but they all abandoned him in favour of foreigners and Elysium. It wasn't fair - he had come to realise nothing in his life was.

Patricide - how could it have been patricide when Marcus denied him as his son? Commodus lacked a strong, male role model - he lacked a father, so how could it have been patricide? He loved Marcus dearly, but it did not matter how much he loved his father, he would never have the feelings returned. It was the story of his life, the little loving boy whom nobody loved in return. It was a striking story, but not as striking as the one of the 'hero of the moment' Maximus: The general who became a slave, the slave who became a gladiator, the gladiator who defied an emperor. Providing his plans went well, the story would come to a glorious conclusion in which Commodus would kill Maximus in the arena to the ambient noise of clapping. It was his dream, his right, his destiny - and he would achieve it no matter what.

But he did not want to have to kill Maximus, he had already lived with the guilt of that, but if Maximus lived the people would continue to turn their backs on him, just as everyone close to him had done to that date. He had father's blood on his hands and now he would have son's and he doubted if he had the strength to come to terms with both.

Lucilla. He knew what he had to do with her. If no other woman would bear him a son then it would have to be her, a son of pure blood. He would love him wholly and the offspring would love him, as would Lucius. They would be father and son - a family, the family he never had.

And Lucius, Lucius would stay with him and if Lucilla decided to put into action any of her other malicious schemes then he would threaten his life - that was how he had control over her.

He did not understand what he had done to her to make her hate him so. She was in agreement that he should be emperor, she did not like Marcus. She told him to punish those who stood against him and he did do it. He fulfilled her every whim and want and this was how she repaid him - by plotting to have him killed. He was almost at the stage where he would not be able to leave his chambers in fear of being struck down by some murderer with a knife. He didn't understand her.

The only thing that settled his heart was the glorious view of the Colosseum in front of him. Just as he stopped to admire it a flock of birds flew high over it, reminding Commodus of the beauty that was still left in the world.

_It is done._

Falco had returned, everything went well. Commodus felt a weight lifted off his shoulders, but he still had a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. He turned around to face his servant.

_And what of my nephew and what of his mother? Shall they share her lover's fate or should I be merciful? Commodus the merciful. Lucius will stay with me now and if his mother so much as looks at me in a manner that displeases me, he will die. And if she decides to be noble and take her own life, he will die. And, as for you..._

He walked over to Lucilla.

..._you will love me as I have loved you. You will provide me with an heir of pure blood so that Commodus and his progeny will rule for 1,000 years. Am I not merciful?_

She had brought this upon herself. He would seal her fate with a kiss and so leaned in, but she turned away, so he refrained. In a sudden fit of anger he grabbed her chin and turned her face.

**_AM I NOT MERCIFUL?!_** He screamed it, his face turning purple. It was the angriest and the loudest he had ever been. He was merciful - he could have raped her, he could have killed her, he could have killed Lucius, he could have killed Maximus. He was merciful. He was.

She was crying, _Let's all sympathise with Lucilla, for she is the victim in all of this_. He thought. _Nobody will sympathise with Commodus, he wasn't moral, although everything he did was in the name of good, how am I evil?_

He knew Falco felt unease from this confrontation.

_Escort her to the arena for the next battle - I would not want her to miss it, it will be unforgettable. _He smiled sadly to himself, it would be unforgettable.

He walked out of the hall leaving the two behind. It was almost time to pay a visit to Maximus, almost time. It was only dawn, he would wait a while before speaking with him, he had to recover his strength.

He hated the way he felt: infuriated. He could rip the whole world up in this mood, which scared him even more. He was lost, lost in a sea of blood, treachery and hate. His feelings mixed up and many, destroying his logic. Everything had gone wrong and it began with Maximus' return, things were great before he showed his face in Rome.

Even if Commodus did die, he would still be considered courageous for fighting him, rather than having him executed. He would still be seen as brave and noble. But he wouldn't die, he couldn't and if he did he did not care, it would be his fate. Perhaps these events were carefully planned and not just random, perhaps fate was ruling him. But Maximus was a thorn in his side which he needed to remove.

Well, Maximus would not be here for much longer, for Commodus would rid the world of his name and in ten thousand years people would still say his name and 'Maximus' would be nothing more than a whisper - shadow and dust.


	8. Chapter 8

Maximus Must Die

Chapter Eight

A sweet kiss from a bitter memory long past lingered on his lips as he stirred; taking in his surroundings once his nap had ended. He must have fallen asleep when he was brooding on his chair, most likely from his eruption earlier. He blinked several times with his big sad eyes and stretched before finally standing and looking in the mirror. He was clad in his armour, ready to fulfil this final task before Maximus departed.

What he was about to do was cowardly, he knew that, but at least he would still fight Maximus, he could have just as easily had him executed. This was the last act he would perform before the world was rid of the Spaniard and it would be the act he was best remembered and loved for - defeating their god.

_All paths have led to this; Maximus must die and will do so by my hand. Please Mars, give me strength._

The sun was high, hanging over the Colosseum, beckoning the emperor to it's floor to meet his destiny. In his heart he knew the outcome, if he looked deep enough into that cell, he could see his lifeless body cluttering the floor. He refused to accept it though, refused to think about the 'what if's', that's what stopped Maximus from dying the first time. He took a final moment to study his body, gathered himself and left to pay a final visit to his brother.

His pulse was racing and his stomach trying to catch up with it as he entered the prisons beneath the arena. It was a horrid place that stunk of filth and ill morals, but he ventured in nevertheless and marched up to Maximus, aware of the beady eyes of Gracchus and the gladiators. He didn't care what these men thought of him, their fate was sealed, although he felt pity for them in a strange way - they'd miss the final show.

_Look at him there, still mocking me with his tired smile even though his hope has been extinguished. He must think I'm here to kill him, well I'll surprise him and when we fight he'll be surprised further. It's strange that it has all led to this. Sometimes I laugh at my life, the bitter irony of it all, it is the only time I smile. I wonder if Maximus laughs about his life, his position, what he has done to me. I wonder. The crowd call for him, the heavens call for him...I will send him to both._

_Maximus. Maximus. Maximus. They call for you. The general who became a slave. The slave who became a gladiator. The gladiator who defied an emperor. Striking story. Now the people want to know how the story ends. Only a famous death will do. What could be more glorious than to challenge the emperor himself in the great arena? _Commodus placed his finger alongside Maximus' face, stroking it as he spoke

**  
**_You would fight me? _

He seemed so surprised, good.

_Why not? Do you think I am afraid? _He wasn't afraid; even if he died he wasn't afraid. _I think you have been afraid all your life. _ _Unlike Maximus the invincible, who knows no fear? _Commodus strangely admired Maximus' reluctance to show his fear. Commodus was afraid of many things: neglect, the dark, loneliness... _I knew a man who once said, death smiles at us all. All that man can do is smile back. _

Commodus wondered what the nature of Maximus' laughter was, it vexed him. Perhaps he was laughing at his life?

_I wonder. Did your friend smile at his own death?_

_You must know. He was your father. _

_You loved my father, I know. But so did I. That makes us brothers, doesn't it? _Brothers. A fine brother Maximus was, betraying Commodus then plotting with his sister to kill him, family. But all family were manipulative, Commodus did not know any different. 

Commodus embraced Maximus and uncovered a dagger that had been hidden in his sleeve, proceeding to thrust it into his left side. He then kissed him on the neck. Blood immediately ran from the wound. _Smile for me now, brother_! His anger was evident in his eyes; he needed to end it all. He was ashamed of the way he was going to win, but it was either that or have Maximus executed, loosing the respect of his people.

_Strap on his armour. Conceal the wound._

The trap door opened and the lift rose, encircled with the Praetorian as they stood behind their black shields. There, in the middle, stood the accidental enemies, Commodus in white and Maximus in black, staring upwards awaiting the praise from above. _If only you had taken my hand, brother, you may have spared your family. _Once they reached the floor of the arena, the Praetorian took their ring formation, creating a barrier between the spectacle and the crowd. Maximus stumbled to the centre holding his left arm close to his body protecting his wound. _So weak, so feeble. _He stooped to pick up a handful of sand and reached for his sword, but Quintus tossed it onto the ground out of Maximus' reach. He picked it up and immediately charged for Commodus.

Maximus went for Commodus and Commodus for Maximus before the general knocked the boy's legs from underneath him. He fell to the ground with a thud. _A minor setback, you can still continue. _He picked himself up and struck Maximus fiercely, but Maximus swung his sword back at Commodus with great force. Commodus swung again, this time slicing the bronzed flesh of the Spaniards leg as he spun around. The wound immediately bled crimson. _I've made the first hit, I've turned the tables. He's stumbling. _Maximus maintained his balance and charged for the Emperor again, cutting the wan skin below the white armour and his sword fatally fell from his grasp. Commodus stood there, unarmed, alone, naked. _It's dark, it's all gone dark - where is everyone? _He looked blankly at the people, lost, then at Maximus, who was playing some sort of miming game. _He's insane, or dying. _

_Sword, give me your sword. _Quintus stood, defying the ruler in the new trend. _Sword, someone give me a sword. _They were offering him one...

_Sheath your swords. _The Praetorians complied, leaving Commodus isolated once again. He looked at Lucilla, she was dying in the heart - she was out of his reach, he'd lost her.

He took out the dagger from his sleeve and ran for Maximus. Maximus struck Commodus with his first, punching with great force before butting his head with his elbow. The realisation that he was loosing gripped his throat and he found himself unable to breathe, but he accepted his fate if that was to be - but he wouldn't stop trying yet. He struck back but the gladiator grabbed Commodus and with one hand cupping the back of Commodus' head, the other forced the dagger back into Commodus as he punched back, relentlessly trying to fight off Maximus. In a flash of a second when all hope had faded, fear commandeered the sad eyes of the lonely emperor as Maximus plunged the dagger into Commodus' throat, deeper and deeper until it could go no further. He fell to the ground.


	9. Chapter 9

Maximus Must Die

Chapter Nine

As his punctured body fell limply to the floor, images from his past flew before his eyes in a random order. His eyes were dark and he could not smell anything after the overpowering stench of blood left his nostrils. His hearing eventually abandoned him and his soul ran off with the last beats of his mistreated heart. It was the end, he knew it, and he felt it.

His earliest memory was of him and Lucilla sitting in the library.

"I say the battle of Gaul, Julius Caesar." Commodus smiled, moving wooden carvings across the floor. He looked up misty eyed at his sister. He was five and he was in Lucilla's charge until they heard news from their mother, who was presently in childbirth.

"And I say the battle of Carthage." She smiled at her younger brother. In his eyes she appeared so fierce, yet feminine, like the smooth curves of a hot fire. She had a strange bloodlust, reflected in her choice for the best battle of history.

"I say that too." Commodus grinned, looking down at his idle hands. He always agreed with what Lucilla said and did whatever he told her to.

It jumped; suddenly he was in Germania, again with Lucilla. This time in his teens whilst waiting in his father's tent.

"When is father coming?" He asked her. She was peering out of the tent, presumably for Marcus Aurelius.

"Shh, Commodus, I'm trying to listen." She waved her hand behind her to try and signal how low he should put his voice. He obeyed and looked solemnly at the floor and waited for his next orders. "Here he is."

"Father?" Commodus looked up, but the man who arrived was not his noble father, but his noble father's young general - Maximus. Commodus looked up at him with wonder, the man was strong and large, filled with muscle and equally filling the room with his amazing presence. He was looking at a giant with awe. But Maximus did not look at him and he and Lucilla whispered and laughed in the corner whilst he stared on, wondering what was going on.

"Commodus, stay here and wait for father. I'll be back soon." Lucilla told him and left. The prince stayed and waited and waited and waited, but neither came back.

He was now with his mother, staring at her face. It was strange; she did not look the same as she did in the morning. Her lips were tinged blue where they once had been scarlet. Her skin was snow white where it had once been olive. Her palms were freezing where they had once been warm, clutching his back in an embrace. Her brown curls tumbled delicately over her white robes and framed her face, her belly still plump and protruding through the fabric. Scared by this vision, he gripped her hand and kissed it, shutting his eyes tightly to blind himself of the horrors in the world.

Lying in bed, six years old. His father was in Germania and he was all alone in his bedroom, the shadows from the moon dancing on his walls. He lay there shivering, the air cold and frosty from the winter chills. His hands wound their way down to clutch his sheets and he pulled them to his chin, trapping any remaining warmth against his body. It was then he saw it...

The eyes of someone, now a face, transforming into a translucent body at the foot of his bed. He was rigid as the figure moved, fingering the silk curtains that flowed down from the canopy above. It moved again, it's movements jerky and stiff, this time to the window and looked out at the streets before turning and walking back towards the prince, kneeling at his bedside. Commodus moved away from the spectre in amazing fear, adrenaline deciding fright, flight or fight, as it stared vacantly at the boy, red eyes glinting. It opened it's mouth, as if to say something, but Commodus beat him to it with a high scream. The figure remained, echoing the scream silently, it's mouth remained wide and agape, shadowed eyes fixed upon Commodus' equally dark-circled eyes. Lucilla broke the bewitching as she ran into the room, chasing away the shape that did not show itself to her beautiful eyes.

She ran up to the weeping boy and cradled him in her arms as he gripped her tightly declaring in his head he would never let her go. She stroked his hair and kissed him in an effort to comfort him but he refused to speak, continuing the fashion throughout the week. However, that particular night she slept in his bed in order to scare away the dreams, but he still saw the visitor on certain nights, he still came when the sun had turned it's back and lost to the dark night.

Always he would be afraid of the dark. Always.

Yet now he was fully consumed by darkness, unable to run away from it. He could feel his last breaths escaping his lips, whilst he desperately tried to move something, anything, just to feel something other than pain and misery. He didn't feel ready to die, but he must be, or he wouldn't be dying.

He saw himself with his father.

"Father, would you read to me?" He asked, a hopeful gleam in his eyes as he looked up adoringly at his paternal model.

"I'm sure Octavio will..." Began the emperor.

"But I want _you_ to." He pleaded, grabbing the purple robes.

"But I haven't time. Perhaps later." Marcus gathering the reigns of his grey horse and rode off to oversee more of his pointless, ruthless battles.

"There's never time." Sighed a disheartened Commodus. He didn't understand what he had done wrong - what could he do to please him?

It was the end and in all of his memories he saw not one single image that satisfied him. Not one that he would care to remember again. With his last ounce of strength and life he pushed a single tear from his vacant eye, which rolled down his cheek and stained the sand.


End file.
